Ain't Misbehaving (9781455523801)

by Cannon, Molly

  The way his long, black lashes swept down to hide those deep brown eyes, the faint scar on his cheekbone adding to his masculine perfection, the dark shadow of day long whiskers covering his stubborn jaw. For once she didn’t have to resist the urge to touch him. Her fingers danced across his scalp, and down the base of his skull. He let out a little moan, and it vibrated right through her, dislodging all the longing that was trapped inside her like so much shrapnel. She straightened, reminding herself to remain professional.

  “Oh, that feels good,” he said with a sigh.

  She smiled in satisfaction. “See? I told you to trust me.”

  The scent of rosemary and chamomile filled the air. He opened his eyes suddenly, looking up at her through her bent arms. “Hey, what kind of shampoo is that? I’m not going to smell like a girl, am I?”

  “Rosemary isn’t a girlie smell. This is a barber shop, remember? I only deal in manly products. If you’ll stop talking and relax, it can be very soothing.” She rinsed his hair once and then rubbed in another dollop of shampoo, creating more suds.

  “Really? Name another flowery-smelling manly man who lets you wash his hair with this stuff.” As he spoke, his warm breath whispered against her collarbone.

  “Mitch Danvers, for one. And Sammy Lopez for another.” Both were young men in their twenties, and both took great pride in looking their best. From what she could tell, all the young women in town seemed to appreciate their efforts.

  He closed his eyes again. “Humph. You think those pipsqueaks are manly?”

  “Sammy buys a bottle of this stuff every six weeks to use at home. It’s rich in emollients. Very nourishing for the hair.” She leaned closer, lifting his head to rinse the back of his hair.

  He opened his eyes just so he could roll them at her, his face now only inches from her chest. “Well, if it’s nourishing… Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  “Oh hush.” She squirted a glob of conditioner in her hand and rubbed her palms together. “This conditioner has aloe, lemongrass, and thyme. I hope it meets with your nose’s approval.” She smoothed it through his hair, massaging again.

  His eyes closed again, and he exhaled deeply. “It smells great. Let’s just forget the haircut, okay? Just keep doing what you’re doing for another hour or so.”

  She selfishly gave in to his request for a minute or two longer than necessary, letting her fingers play across his temples, over his ears and down the strong column of his neck before saying, “Okay, it’s time to rinse now.”

  Using the sprayer, she turned his head this way and that until she was done and told him to sit up. Taking the towel from his shoulder, she wrapped it around his head turban-style and led him back to the barber chair.

  Docile as a lamb, he followed her directions and sat while she towel-dried his hair and combed it. While looking in the mirror, she lifted strands of his hair and explained, “I’m not going to take much length off the top. I’m just going to shape up the back and the sideburns a bit. Does that sound okay?”

  Jake nodded, feeling like all his bones had turned to sponge. Except one. He’d never been so turned on in his entire life. Luckily the big, black plastic cape she’d draped around him hid the evidence.

  This afternoon, when Lincoln told him she planned to move to Derbyville, everything inside of him panicked. Derbyville wasn’t that far away, and she’d still be at the barber shop most days, but damn it, he couldn’t get a handle on what he wanted from her, what he could allow himself to want. Realizing he was in love with her only confused things.

  Part of him thought not having her around so much was the perfect solution. A little distance, a chance to gain some perspective. But that only lasted as long as it took to get her new address from Lincoln and drive from Everson to Derbyville. Finding her alone in that empty apartment, helping her paint, finding every excuse to stand too close, brushing against her like a lovesick adolescent boy, had only fueled his growing need for her.

  She was driving him out of his everlovin’ mind.

  So when he’d taken her up on her offer of a haircut, he’d been surrendering to a long-standing fantasy. When Marla Jean first started working for her dad, he always managed to avoid getting his hair cut if she was at the shop. Even back then he had to fight his attraction for her.

  Back when she’d been Lincoln’s little sister and strictly off limits. Later, when she’d been a married woman and absolutely off limits. And now, when she’d made it clear that her body wasn’t off limits, but her heart most certainly was.

  So, in a moment of weakness, he’d given in, allowed himself to indulge a little. He stretched out on that shampoo chair and allowed her to have her soapy way with him. Stupid flowery-smelling shampoo and that lemon conditioner that smelled like Marla Jean in a bottle. His head was swimming.

  He watched her in the mirror now as she lifted a lock of his hair, using her comb and scissors in tandem, her concentration on the task complete. He gripped the arms of the chair, resisting the urge to pull her into his lap and kiss her until they were both stupid with wanting each other. That’s what he wanted. To stop thinking so much and just feel. To give Marla Jean what she wanted—to give her what she’d asked for when she’d approached him with that harebrained offer of meaningless sex. He’d always been good at keeping sex and emotions separate, hadn’t he?

  But giving in wasn’t the responsible thing to do. It certainly wasn’t the smart thing to do, so he held on to the arms of the chair like they’d save him. Save him from doing something reckless and dumb.

  She made a few more cuts and thought she was finished. But wait. Almost. A snip here and there, watching a dark strand curl around her finger. Curl the way she wanted to curl up around his body and stay there for a day or two. It had taken years to get Jake into her chair. She wanted to enjoy every second. Her breath felt shallow, trapped inside her body. Being near him seemed to require additional oxygen, seemed to charge the atmosphere with thick strands of coppery need.

  Ripping open the Velcro tab on the black plastic cape, she pulled it off, throwing it on the neighboring chair. With a soft brush she whisked away a few loose hairs on the back of his neck. Goose bumps traveled along his skin, and she watched fascinated feeling the same tingle travel up the inside of her arm.

  She walked around the chair, dropping the brush on the counter, and turned to stand in front of him, examining him from a new angle. The haircut was done, finished, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to stop touching him. She could feel his eyes on her, tracking her every move.

  She played with one errant curl that fell on his forehead, refusing to be tamed. Leaning forward she pushed the stubborn curl up into his hairline, using all of her fingers, letting them travel across his scalp like a gentle rake. He grabbed her arm, stilling her hand and her eyes flew to meet his.

  “Marla Jean.” His voice was a low rumble when he whispered her name. It could have been a warning. It could have been a plea, but when he pulled her into his lap she didn’t care. Was this what she wanted? It’s what she’d asked for, wasn’t it? Physical pleasure, the meeting of mutual needs. She wasn’t going to stop now to ask if it was enough. Instead, she reached for him, pulling him down before words and regrets and consequences could cloud the moment.

  He took control, arranging her until she straddled him, and then he was kissing her. And all she cared about were his hands moving across her skin, pulling her sweater over her head. Her hands pulling at his T-shirt until it was free from his jeans, dragging it up and off until he was uncovered and bare to her touch. His hands buried in her hair—her mouth skimming, licking, nipping at the muscles of his chest, lower to the hot flesh of his stomach before moving back to his mouth.

  That glorious mouth.

  And his hands finding the hook on her bra, freeing her breasts to his touch, his eyes devouring them with a hunger she longed to feed. His arms lifting her, moving her so her nipples became the willing victims of his lips and tongue and teeth, u
nearthing her weaknesses. Holding his head in her hands, urging him to never, ever stop.

  Jake stood, taking her with him. She kicked off her shoes while he found the button and zipper on her jeans, skimming them, along with her panties, down her legs with a sweep of his hands. His eyes traveled the naked length of her, his gaze intent and smoky. His lips brushed hers, whispering her name once more, hot and dark across her cheek. “Marla Jean.”

  “Jake.” She chased his mouth, needing the taste of him, and he answered with a heart-aching kiss that shuffled what was left of her senses.

  Turning her to face the mirror, his shadowed gaze locked on the erotic image she made. Her riot of hair spilled out against his bare chest. With one hand he slowly traced a map around one breast, lazily, inch by inch, while the other hand skimmed across her flat stomach and down one thigh. “My God, you’re beautiful.”

  Seeing herself in the mirror, she felt beautiful, with Jake’s big, wide hands on her, with his eyes reflecting need and honest desire. His hand drifted down, moved between her legs, teasing, coaxing her to open to him. She spread her legs apart, giving him better access, gasping at the feel of Jake’s fingers inside her, nearly weeping at the drenching desire his touch created. His other hand continued to caress her breasts, molding them, plucking at her nipples with his fingers. Her body arched, pressing her breasts against his hand, needing more, wanting everything, welcoming the building tension like a long-lost friend.

  She bit her lip, and her eyes drifted closed.

  A nibble on her neck got her attention before Jake’s voice rumbled in her ear. “Open your eyes, Marla Jean. I want you to watch what I’m doing to you.”

  So she watched through heavy lids as he played her like an instrument, strumming her until she hummed with pleasure. Pleasure that gripped her, picked her up, and carried her higher and higher. Her fingers dug into his jean-covered thighs for support, leaning against him while the whole world flew apart.

  Jake took the weight of her, picking her up and carrying her to the shampoo bench in the back room. He laid her down gently and then straightened, taking off his jeans in a hurry, retrieving a condom from the pocket.

  His penis sprang out proud and ready and he rolled the condom on before turning around to face her. “Is this what you want, Marla Jean? If you’re not sure…”

  “This is what I want, Jake. I’m sure. Now kiss me.”

  So he did. He kissed her, knowing his heart would almost certainly be broken before they were done with each other. But for now, he kissed her, placing his pitiful heart in her hands.

  When she opened her legs, inviting him in, he pushed inside her body, certain he was making love for the first time in his life. With every thrust he fell more deeply. With every stroke he uncovered a new layer of need, need he saw echoed in Marla Jean’s eyes. He kissed her again, seeking new ways to connect, new ways to reach her, wanting to hold on to the moment, make it go on and on. But her body tightened, pushing him closer to the edge, then stilled—a small quiet calm before exploding beneath him. Her sob of pleasure was his undoing. He let go, and mounting, tight-winding pressure slammed through his body while he roared his release.

  Gathering her close, he buried his face in her hair, feeling, just feeling, not allowing himself to think.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  That box goes in the kitchen, Theo. And Donny Joe, that one has art supplies. It goes in the extra bedroom.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Donny Joe said with a wink.

  “Watch it, Lincoln. Don’t you dare scratch the new paint on my walls.” Marla Jean hauled boxes and directed traffic as the trail of friendly helpers unloaded her meager possessions from the rented moving van and dumped them in the appropriate spots. It wasn’t much, but it was all hers.

  Thanksgiving had been a day of cooking and eating and football, but later that night Marla Jean had finished packing her few belongings, so by early Friday morning when Theo, Donny Joe, Lincoln, and Dinah showed up at her parents’ house, it had taken less than three hours to make the move to her new apartment. Bitsy contributed a big box of kitchen paraphernalia at the last minute as a kind of blessing on the move. She’d worried that their decision to move home had pushed Marla Jean away, but Marla Jean finally convinced her that it was something she needed to do whether they moved back to Everson or not.

  She wanted to take her time unpacking things, especially in the kitchen, but having her friends around now was a blessing. They kept her engaged. They kept her from thinking too much. They kept her from thinking about Jake.

  After they’d made love at the barber shop—okay, after they’d had sex, Jake had grown more and more distant. By the time he’d taken her home he was barely speaking. He’d walked her to the door and kissed her on the forehead, for God’s sake.

  She couldn’t be surprised or even offended. He’d warned her that he thought anything between the two of them would be a gigantic mistake. But damn, how could anything that felt so world-rearranging be a mistake? Even now her body hummed with bursts of pleasure remembering the things he’d done to her. The ways he’d touched her. It appeared that the feelings were entirely one-sided.

  But she couldn’t regret it. She was the one who’d said she wasn’t interested in anything serious. She was the one who’d told him she could handle casual, meaningless sex. She refused to regret it. Having sex with Jake could now be struck from her list of adventurous things to do. Checked off as part of becoming a woman who owned her choices. And didn’t she sound so sophisticated and worldly? Check.

  She deliberately chose to push any more thoughts of Jake from her mind and started unloading a box of books in the living room, carefully arranging them on the built in shelves. Dinah sat on the sofa, confined there by Linc who in overprotective father-to-be mode had allowed that she could only empty small boxes of odds and ends as long as they weighed no more than the average feather. Marla Jean thought it was sweet, but Dinah wanted to strangle him. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid,” she complained as he stuck his head around the corner to check on her for the umpteenth time. As soon as he disappeared, she jumped up and grabbed Marla Jean’s arm, pulling her down beside her on the couch. “Take a break and keep me company for a few minutes.”

  “I really shouldn’t. I feel bad making the guys do all the work.”

  “Oh, pish, it’s almost done. Sit. Talk to me.”

  “I have a better idea,” Marla Jean said, “Come in the kitchen, and you can help me make sandwiches.”

  Dinah hopped off the sofa like she’d been released from a jail cell. “Great idea. Food. I’m starving.”

  Marla Jean waved her toward the kitchen table. “We can’t have that. Have a seat and I’ll get the sandwich stuff from the fridge.”

  “Turkey, I presume?”

  “Bite your tongue. This is a no turkey zone, until Mom shows up with leftovers. I have ham and pastrami.”

  Dinah sat down at the kitchen table. “I like the color you painted the walls. It looks like rotten boiled egg yolk.”

  “Thanks, I think.” Marla Jean grinned.

  “You’re welcome. It’s a bold decorating choice. So,” Dinah said drawing it out slowly, “speaking of bold, I understand from Theo that Jake helped you paint?”

  “He did,” she admitted. So much for not thinking about Jake. “He showed up just as I was getting started.”

  “I love a man with good timing.”

  “It was really nice of him to help,” Marla Jean insisted casually.

  “I thought he’d be here helping today, too,” Dinah remarked not too slyly as she opened the loaf of bread and took out slices.

  “I’m sure he has a million things to do since the wedding is tomorrow.” Marla Jean pulled the sliced meat and cheese from the refrigerator. Then she grabbed mustard, mayonnaise, pickles, tomatoes, lettuce, and a stack of paper plates, and joined Dinah at the table.

  Dinah looked concerned. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. How are you feeling about that? You haven’t really
said much.”

  She shrugged. “There’s nothing to say. Life goes on.”

  “I know, but still, you and Bradley were married for a long time.” Dinah picked up the slices of bread and started flipping them onto paper plates like she was dealing cards.

  “That’s true, and when I married him, I expected it to be for the rest of my life. Part of me is still surprised every day when I wake up and realize I’m divorced.” Marla Jean grabbed a cutting board from a box on the counter, found a sharp knife in another, and started slicing tomatoes.

  “So, do you still love him?” Dinah sounded surprised, like the idea hadn’t occurred to her.

  Marla Jean finished slicing the tomato with a few enthusiastic whacks of the knife. “Who, Bradley? Lately I want to wring his neck every time I see him. Part of me still loves him… We practically grew up together. Maybe I just love the boy he used to be. But I’m not in love with him, and I don’t want to talk about Bradley anymore. Please.”

  Dinah squirted mustard on half the bread and mayonnaise on the other half. “Okay, so we won’t. You know what I think? I think we should go out and celebrate tonight. Your big move, the new baby. I’d say we deserve a night of dancing at Lu Lu’s, don’t you?”

  Marla Jean’s first reaction was to say no, but then she realized if she stayed home she’d just brood, not about Bradley’s pending marriage, but about Jake and what she’d say to appear carefree and lighthearted the next time she saw him. “That sounds like a great idea, Dinah. I’m going to go get the guys and tell them it’s time to eat.”

  “Please, Mr. Jacobson, be still.” Mr. Smythe—it rhymed with tithe—made the request in his clipped English accent. He trained watery blue eyes on his latest victim while the jowls of his cheeks quivered with disapproval. “You’re fidgeting. And if you fidget, this suit will not fit properly.”